


Upper

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:22:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sirius is there for the change back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upper

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Holiday drabble for evening12 (whom I love dearly) [on tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/66814629392/musing).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Either a squirrel ran by or a dream did it—it’s always hard to tell as Padfoot. Dreams are sort of a different ordeal when you’re a dog; they’re less clear, if that’s even possible, and everything’s seen from the ground up. Padfoot comes to with a general whine; there was a bone in that dream, wasn’t there? He doesn’t get enough of those. Just because he’s not _really_ a dog doesn’t mean his teeth don’t need sharpening. 

He looks sideways when he is up, when he remembers where he is. He’s on his stomach in the dirt, in the woods, nestled into a bed of dry leaves—it’s colder in the fall. The first change, and Filch was stalking around the willow—stupid creep. They had to go to the forest instead, and Moony... Moony had fun running through the free air, but he had to be corralled away from the castle one too many times. 

Now he’s huddled near a tree half a meter from Padfoot, shivering and generally looking worse for wear. There are a few scratches along his haunches and a new one on his muzzle—Padfoot feels a pang of guilt for falling asleep. He makes another whining noise and gets up, padding over to nuzzle into Moony’s neck. It’s dog for: _I’m sorry._

Moony just whimpers. He looks at Padfoot with his big monster eyes, and they shine with a sort of terror, like they’re saying he doesn’t want to go back. But he has to. Padfoot misses _Remus_ too much. Moony is fun, but Remus is... better. 

It won’t be long now. The shivering and the whimpering and the general cowering are always signs. Sometimes it’s anger instead, but usually, it’s this. Moony howls, throwing his head back and crying out in pain, and Padfoot rubs into his side to just say: _I’m here, I’m here._ He can’t do anything, can’t help. Still, he’s here. Always will be. Moony nuzzles back into him and starts moaning and rocking, and those tortured sounds twist into shrieks and howls of agony a moment later. The change lasts maybe five minutes, five awful minutes of fur receding and skin stretching and bones all reshaping; Remus doesn’t like to talk about it, but Padfoot knows it’s nothing like his own rebirth, that it’s very, very painful. He turns his muzzle away at one point, (can’t watch) but he never moves away. 

And then he knows it’s over, can feel the cold, bare skin trembling against his side, and he shifts himself, shaking out into something more human, all human, faster and smoother. As a boy again, Sirius wraps his arms around his friend, holding Remus close and murmuring, “Shh, I’ve got you.”

Remus clings to him like a scared child. Remus is naked, vulnerable, so cold and looking down, always a bit ashamed. For no reason. It isn’t his fault. Sirius reaches one hand behind himself to blindly feel for his schoolbag—he made sure they settled next to it. There’s an extra set of robes inside that he helps drape over Remus’ shoulders, and Remus holds it tight around himself. 

“Sorry, the others had to go early. James has Quidditch practice in the morning and Peter’s just a coward.”

Remus shakes his head. “No, it was good of them to come at all.” His voice is tiny, small. He always needs time to recuperate. 

His skin is clammy, and he bushes his brown bangs off his forehead. He’s covered in dirt and bruises. Sirius repeats, “Sorry, it’s just me.” And he pulls Remus into another hug, hoping he can be enough.

Remus mumbles into his shoulder, “That’s more than enough. ...Sometimes it’s nice to just have you.” Maybe there’s something extra in the words. Something twists in Sirius’ stomach, hot and pleasant. 

He says, “Good.”

It’s a few more seconds of just hugging. Remus is still shaking, still unsteady, a baby fawn in a new human body. When Remus pulls back, he sneezes. He needs to get back to his bed, where it’s warm and comfy. (And safe.) He has a few scratches on his thigh and one on his cheek that look fresh and stinging, but Sirius knows he won’t want to go to the Hospital Wing unless he has to. Remus must catch Sirius staring, because he cups his cheek and says, turning a little pink, “It’s fine. Really.”

It’s never fine. It might scar. 

Sirius, half on sheer instinct and half because he hates not being able to do anything else, leans over to peck the hand covering it. Kiss it better, in a way. Remus smiles softly.

He says even quieter, “Thank you.”

Sirius nods.

“No, I mean it. For everything. You... you have no idea how much this means to me.” His eyes are a little watery—he’s so _vulnerable_ on these nights. Sirius could get so much more than words if he wanted, (and Merlin, does he _want_ ) but it’s not fair when it’s like this. Sirius always has to hold himself back to not take advantage. He nods again, and he clasps Remus’ free hand. 

“My pleasure.” Really.

From there it’s the usual problems. Sirius brought a change of clothes, and Remus tugs things on beneath the robes, and they find the scraps of his old ones and stuff them into the bag. Sirius picks up the bag and offers to pick up Remus, but Remus shakes his head and says he can walk.

He can’t, really. He slumps on Sirius’ shoulder, Sirius with one arm around his waist, and they walk steadily back to the castle, the two marauders left who could never have anything more important than _this_.

Sirius gets a peck on the cheek outside the doors. The whole night was already worth it, but that makes everything _better_.


End file.
